Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained
by LuxaLucifer
Summary: "So, the answer to the important question?" pressed Finn. "Yes?" "Is he gay?" "Very," said Artemis, grinning at him. "He came out last year. Who knows, could be why Feanaro disowned him." Finn shrugged, wished his sister luck on snagging her own man, and moved to talk to the mysterious Russell Feanaro. Modern day AU
1. Chapter 1

I started this fic ages ago, and finally finished it. It'll be twelve chapters when it's done. It's an Modern day AU where Maedhros and Fingon don't meet until adults and, when they do, hit it off. And stuff. I dunno. Rated for language, moderate sexuality in later chapters, and mentions of torture and sexual assault, also in far later chapters.

* * *

"How about him?"

Finn should his head. "No, he's too...rich."

"Brother," said Artemis, rolling her eyes. "We are at a penthouse party. _Everyone _here is rich."

"Not that guy," hissed Finn, nudging his sister. "That guy is perfectly attractive."

"He's a waiter," sighed Artemis.

"Doesn't make him less doable."

Artemis cast the waiter an appreciative eye. "Yes, I think I can see that."

They returned to their scanning of the guests, but Finn didn't see anyone that struck his fancy, until...

"Hey, sis," said Finn. "What about_ him_?"

Finn nodded his head towards the bar, where an extremely tall man was ordering a drink, his face in profile. And what a profile it _was._

"Wow," said Artemis, beginning to giggle. "You have _some_ taste."

"Why," said Finn, confused. "Who is he? Oh, god, he's not one of Father's friends, is he?"

"No," said Artemis. "He's Curufinwe Feanaro's eldest son."

Finn's mouth dropped. Even he, the black sheep of the family, knew of the infamous rivalry between Nolan Fingolfin and Curu Feanaro; they were business rivals who sparred at every confrontation, and, even worse, they were distantly related. There was no greater shame on either side than to think about _that._

"What's Feanaro's son doing at one of Father's parties?" asked Finn.

"Rumor is, he's estranged from his father these days," said Artemis. "No one's quite sure why."

"What's his name?"

"Russell," said Artemis, somewhat dreamily. "Russell Feanaro."

"I'm going for him," said Finn decisively. "I'm risking him."

Artemis grabbed his arm as he turned away. "No, not yet. I haven't told you everything I know about him."

"Boy, you're full of gossip tonight, aren't you?" said Finn, pulling at his tie. He hated suits.

"He's worth it," said Artemis. "Did you know that Feanaro makes all of his sons enlist?"

"All seven of them?"

"Yeah, all seven of them," said Artemis. "And apparently, Russell had a bad time over there."

"Over where?"

"I don't know," snapped Artemis. "Wherever he went. Anyway, he's supposedly all messed up now. Very broody."

"So, the answer to the important question?" pressed Finn.

"Yes?"

"Is he gay?"

"Very," said Artemis, grinning at him. "He came out last year. Who knows, could be why Feanaro disowned him."

Finn shrugged, wished his sister luck on snagging her own man, and moved to talk to the mysterious Russell Feanaro.

Up close, Russell Feanaro was even taller than Finn had originally thought. He sidled up to bar and ordered a drink, watching Russell out of the corner of his eye.

"You're not that subtle, you know."

Finn started in his chair, turning to stare at Russell, who was smirking.

"E-Excuse me?" stammered Finn.

"I could see you," said Russell, tilting his head to where Artemis was hitting on the waiter from earlier. "Over there. Didn't your mother ever teach you that pointing is rude?"

Finn blushed. This was _not_ going to way he'd wanted.

"I'm Russell," he said, watching Finn with wary eyes. "Of the Feanaro brood. But I'm sure you know that already."

"And do you know who I am?" asked Finn curiously, leaning against the bar.

"No, actually, I don't," said Russell. Now the Finn had a chance to look closely, he really was _quite _handsome, with a strong jaw, high cheekbones, flaming red hair, and piercing green eyes. There was something off, though; a long, pale scar that went from his hairline to his chin, his nose, which looked as though it should have been perfectly on-center, was crooked, and there was an overall hardness, gauntness even, that underlay his handsome visage and impeccable suit.

"I'm Finn," said Finn. "Fingolfin."

"The prodigal son returns, hm?" said Russell, his smirk growing.

"Ah, so you know _of _me."

"Who doesn't? You gave up the second biggest position in the biggest world to be an artist."

"A critically acclaimed artist," amended Finn irritably. "People never seem to realize that."

Russell swilled his drink with his gloved left hand, his right, Finn presumed, hidden in his pocket.

"Are you?" asked Russell curiously. "They _do_ forget to realize that. I didn't know."

Russell looked honestly interested, and Finn felt a surge of attraction for this man. There was nothing more attractive to him, especially a one of his father's parties, than a man who was genuinely interested in his art.

"What do you do?" asked Finn, humbly changing the subject, although he was definitely interested in this man now (although the logistics of certain positions might be difficult, with that height).

"Nothing much," said Russell, and Finn could tell he'd touched a sore subject by the way Russell's mouth tightened. "I tried to get into business, but it's difficult when your father blacklists you from practically every job in the city."

"Feanaro?"

"Yes," said Russell, smiling grimly.

"What did you do to get in his bad graces?" asked Finn. "Or is that too personal?"

Russell didn't reply; his eyes lingered on Finn's face, examining his hair, kept back in a gold ribbon (Artemis had cheerfully told him it was the gayest thing she'd ever seen), his gray eyes, his mouth. Finn unconsciously licked his lips.

"Personal," said Russell finally, his gaze still fixed on Finn's face. "I don't mind, but it's a long story. I'd rather not."

"T-That's fine," said Finn a bit breathlessly.

Russell tugged at his collar, still with his left hand. "I'm afraid...how much do you know about me?"

"That you're my type," said Finn, trying to remember how to flirt. "Although I forgot to check if you're available."

Russell let out a bark of laughter. "I am available, yes."

He shifted positions, and Finn realized that Russell's right hand wasn't in his pocket; he didn't have one.

Russell was watching him with a sad look in his eyes. "Not attracted to me now, I assume?"

"Don't assume," said Finn automatically. "It makes an ass out of you and me."

Russell's eyebrows raised practically to his hairline. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm fine with that," said Finn honestly. "In fact..."

"Yes?"

"As an artist," said Finn bluntly. "I like disfigurements. I don't just not mind them, I look for them."

"Disfigurements, huh?" said Russell, his expression blank.

Finn covered his face with his hand as he blushed red. "Oh, Valar, I'm so stupid. I'm just so...that was insensitive..."

"I don't care," said Russell. "Let's get out of here, what do you say?"

Finn couldn't help himself; a huge grin spread across his face. "Yeah, sounds good to me."

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Reviews are love! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Rated M for some sexuality. :)

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"You know," said Russell, letting go of Finn's mouth long enough to pant out the words. "When I said 'let's get out of here', I thought maybe a hotel room, not a broom closet."

Finn took the opportunity to open the collar at Russell's throat and plant several kisses there, laughing at the vibrations when Russell groaned. "What's the difference? Personally, I think broom closets are more..."

Whatever broom closets were, Finn never told, because Russell's hand roamed over his backside and he lost all train of thought.

"I am," said Russell, speaking haltingly as they kissed. "Over seven feet tall. Broom closets...aren't exactly...my thing."

Finn started to unbutton Russell's shirt, but he was stopped when the hand left his backside and reached up to stop him.

"My shirt stays on," said Russell, his voice low against Finn's ear. "Please."

"No problem," said Finn, somewhat disappointed.

He redirected his hands to the back of Russell's neck, pulling him in for another deep, thorough kiss that had Finn leaning up on his toes for more.

"I'll give you a blow-job," said Russell, running his hand through Finn's hair, fingering the gold ribbon. "And if you want, you can give me a hand-job. I can't go farther than that."

"I don't get it," murmured Finn. "But I'll respect it."

And enjoy it, it turned out, as Russell turned out to be an expert in the things he was willing to do.

Finn leaned against the musty wall of the closet, breathing hard as Russell tried to maneuver his large body back to his feet in the limited space.

Russell hesitated before kissing him, but Finn didn't care where he'd just had his mouth, he tugged him in for another kiss and let his hand wander down under Russell's pants.

"Mmm," was what Russell had to say about that, followed by several breathless moans.

Afterwards, Russell pulled out an un-embroidered white handkerchief out of his now-rumpled suit and cleaned Finn's hand with it, his face an adorable shade of pink that clashed horribly with his auburn hair.

"If you want," said Finn, who had just enjoyed himself immensely both during the sex and the earlier conversation (when he hadn't been making a fool of himself). "I can call you, just give me your number."

Russell, displaying none of the sarcastic charm of earlier or the impassioned lover of a few moments ago, turned a deeper shade of red and mumbled, "I'm not really- I'm not boyfriend material. I'm good for a good time in a closet, but long-term, I'm full of problems."

Finn's heart when out to him, so he kissed Russell on the cheek and said, "You didn't say that you don't _want_ a relationship, though. How about this; I'll give you my number, and you can decide whether or not you want to call me, okay?"

Russell shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Sure."

Finn opened the closet door and let light stream in so he could retrieve a pen form somewhere in his pockets and said, "You don't mind if I write on the handkerchief, do you?"

"No, it's fine," Russell assured him.

"Good," said Finn, and his scribbled down his name and number.

In the light of the outside hallways, Russell looked more assured and like his earlier self as he quickly pulled his discarded glover over his hand with his teeth. "Maybe I'll call you then, Finn Fingolfin."

"One more thing," called Finn after him. "No one is only good for a good time in a closet."

"If you say so," said Russell as he walked away, but Finn thought he was smiling.

When Finn returned to the party, he approached his sister, who glared at him.

"Don't smile at me like that," she said. "With your disheveled suit and your big eyes! I know where you've been. Takes you an hour to land a man, while _I've _been here all night and _still _can't find someone."

"What about the waiter from earlier?"

"He turned out to be a real creep," huffed Artemis. "Cute on the outside, but twisted on the inside. Told me he could tell we were meant to get married, and that our kids would be really smart."

"What did you do?"

"Threw a glass of wine in his face and gave him the finger."

"Good," said Finn approvingly. "_I_, on the other hand, had a wonderful time."

"I know," she grumbled. "So shut up."

"Love you, sis."


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry I took so long, I sort of...forgot. Sorry! :)

* * *

"Hello?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"This is Russell," said the voice on the other end of the phone. "Russell Feanaro, from the party?"

Finn nearly dropped the pack of instant noodles he was holding. "Er, yes, I remember you."

How could he not? His mind was drawn to that night, not only because of the good time he'd had, but also due to to all the dumb things he'd said and done. He couldn't believe Russell was actually calling him!

"Oh," said Russell, his voice unusually quiet considering he was such a large man. "That's good. You said to, um, call you if I wanted to see you again. I thought about it, and I-I do. What do you say?"

Finn couldn't help himself; he grinned. "Sound great. Do you want to go out for dinner? When?"

"Yeah," said Russell. "Dinner sounds good. And maybe, if you wanted...I wouldn't mind seeing some of your art."

Russell appealed to the not-so-humble artist in Finn; he just kept smiling. "Really? Awesome. I've got some art showing in a gallery downtown, I'll take you after dinner."

They agreed on a time and place, and when Finn hung up, he started whistling.

When the door chime announced a new patron, Finn looked up eagerly, hoping it was Russell. He'd gotten to the restaurant early out of nervousness, and now his heart hammered in his chest every time someone new came in.

It was Russell, and right on time. He ducked his head as he entered the room, his eyes searching for Finn, who waved. Russell smiled, sending a flurry of butterflies down Finn's stomach. A date. Russell notwithstanding, when was the last time _he'd_ actually gone on a date?

Russell maneuvered his way to Finn's table gracefully for such a large man, making it to his destination without incidence. Finn pulled out a chair for his date and ordered another drink.

"I hope you weren't waiting long," said Russell.

"No," said Finn hastily. "I just got here a little early, that's all."

"Oh," said Russell, looking at his silverware. "That's good."

Russell, Finn noticed, was wearing a dark green turtleneck with fairly tight jeans that did a decent job of hugging his legs. Something different, Finn noticed, was that he wasn't wearing a glove; he could see pink scars running ridges up and down the back of his hand.

"I like your turtleneck," said Finn cheerily, trying to break up the tension. "Its matches your eyes."

"Does it?" asked Russell, biting his lip. "My brother said it did, but I wasn't sure..."

"Your brother?" asked Finn. "Did he pick it out?"

Russell blushed. "Yeah, he was excited that I was going out...he's just about the most flamboyant straight man I've ever met. He picks out practically everything I wear, and I let him, since he alters most everything so it's big enough for me."

"Which brother is this?" said Finn. "Everything I know about your family is about your dad. What's he like?"

"Didn't I just say he was flamboyant?" replied Russell, beginning to smile. "He's a musician. A really great musician, actually. He played in the marching band for the army and now he's starting to do big concert performances. His name is Malcolm, but my little brothers nicknamed him Maggie and it stuck."

"Maggie?" asked Finn, his eyebrows raising.

"_I_ didn't think of it," said Russell. "He lives with me right now. He says he doesn't like the idea of living alone."

"With six brothers, I can see that," said Finn. "I have a sister and two brothers. Artemis is whiling her days away pretending to be a socialite while secretly earning her master's degree and my brother Ted is an architect."

"What about your other brother?" asked Russell.

"He's an extremely successful gambler," said Finn promptly. "He's got a mansion in Las Vegas, but, shhhh, father doesn't like people to know."

"Guess you're not the only black sheep in your family, huh?" said Russell as they ordered.

"No," said Finn, deciding on a delicious looking soup dish. "Sounds like you aren't either, what with Maggie and all."

"Who ever said I was a black sheep?" said Russell with a wry twist of the lips. "Don't tell your father, but-you _won't_ tell your father, will you?"

Finn shook his head. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"There are worse things than death," said Russell seriously. "If you wanted to prove that you meant it, you would swear on them."

"I don't know what they are," said Finn. "Even if I am an artist."

"Consider yourself lucky," said Russell, fiddling with the collar on his turtleneck as their food arrived.

"So," said Finn around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "What's the story?"

"I asked my father to disown me," said Russell as he began to cut up his meat in a very precise, practiced manner. "He would never say it to my face, but I know he doesn't want me as an heir. When I...got back from my tour, I was pretty...um, well, that's a story for another time. I was indisposed to perform any heir-like duties, and my father has always wanted his heir to be much more personally involved with his favorite businesses."

"Which are?"

"Crafting and jewelry, although he also has a huge interest in linguistic studies and aeronautics. My father is a man of many talents."

"Jack of all trades type of thing?" suggested Finn.

"Ah, that implies that he's a master of none," said Russell. "But that's not true; he's a master of everything he does. But enough about that. I was about to tell you that, when I got back, my father refused to disown me without a reason, so I came out of the closet. He's got too many high up political friends who wouldn't stand for that, so he had to."

"Wow," said Finn. "Makes my life seem like a piece of cake."

"Don't ever compare your life to mine," said Russell. "It'll just make both us of feel bad."

"Speaking of which," said Finn. "Why do you think you're not relationship material?"

"Hmm?" said Russell, suddenly engrossed in his steak.

"Oh, you heard me," said Finn, smiling. "You don't have to answer the question, I'm just curious."

"First of all," said Russell. "I'm unemployed. I also have an incredibly annoying brother living with me, so the idea of privacy is shot right there."

"Is that all?" asked Finn. "In my circle of friends, being unemployed doesn't mean much."

"I haven't dated in years."

"You're not the only one, believe it or not."

"I'm...really messed up."

"Messed up how?"

"See," said Russell, smiling sadly. "If I told you, I'd scare you off. And even though I hate admitting it, I don't want to do that."

"I knew I'd grow on you," said Finn triumphantly.

"We sort of ended up in a broom closet. No time for anyone growing on anyone," reminded Russell.

Finn placed his head on his hands to better meet Russell's eyes. "But you like me."

"Why else would I be here?"

"So why are you so insistent on stopping me from liking you?"

Russell hesitated.

"I have fake teeth," he said at last.

Finn had not been expecting that.

"What?"

"Dentures," said Russell, looking embarrassed.

"You do?"

With a pop, Russell detached his entire bottom row of teeth and took it out.

"I have a few teeth in the back," said Russell, sounding slightly muffled as he curled his bottom lip over his gums. "So they didn't make them permanent. I have none of my real top teeth left."

Finn was more than a little surprised, but he was determined to not let it show.

"Why? What happened?"

Russell popped his teeth back in and gave them a second to settle before saying, "I was a prisoner of war in a country that likes to pretend that the Geneva Conventions don't exist. If you date me, you have to understand...I'm not whole. I'm not always happy, or fun to be around. This is only the tip of the iceberg."

"Good," said Finn.

Russell stared at him.

"I don't want someone who's perfect. I don't want someone who's whole. I want someone that's human. I like_ you."_

"Oh," said Russell, and Finn fancied that he was looking extremely flattered. "Well...thank you. I like you too."

Finn, to his utter embarrassment, was so happy he knocked over his glass of wine.

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Reviews are love! :)


	4. Chapter 4

I'll be honest, I've got no idea what happens in this chapter. :)

* * *

Finn couldn't help himself; even though he knew he shouldn't pester Russell, there were butterflies in his stomach as he paced behind the tall man; he had to give in.

"Do you like it?" asked Finn.

Russell didn't answer at first, head cocked. Then he turned to Finn and smiled. Finn smiled weakly back.

"I like to take my time appreciating art I'm enjoying," said Russell before turning back to the art.

Was that good? That was good, right? Finn was certain it was good. Right?

Eventually Russell moved onto the next painting, Finn doing his best impression of an extraordinarily excited frog behind him.

"Are all artists like this?" asked Russell, chuckling.

"No," said Finn, pouting. "A lot of them, though."

"I'm glad I'm not an artist then," said Russell. "Because I don't know how I'd stand being so close to such talented, attractive people all the time."

Finn swatted Russell on the arm. "You're just saying that!"

"I'm not," said Russell, smiling. "I don't just _say_ things. I mean them. So when I tell you that I think your art is absolutely fantastic, know that I _mean_ it."

Finn grinned. "Now that you've flattered me enough, want to back to my place?"

He waggled his eyebrows and counted on Russell getting his insinuation. Russell did, but it wasn't the reaction he'd be hoping for.

"I, um," stammered Russell. "I don't date much. I know we've already, uh, been together, but it's only the first date, and I'm...in a real bed, at someone's house, I'm not sure I'm..."

"It's fine," said Finn hastily. "It was just a suggestion."

"Are you sure?" said Russell hesitantly. "If you want to have sex, I suppose we can...or maybe you'd be better off finding-"

"Russell," said Finn soothingly. "It's _fine_. Let me get us a cab, okay? You can tell me all about my artwork and how you liked it on the cab right home."

Russell relaxed, smiling slightly. "I'm glad you're okay with it. I'd feel bad if I were...denying you anything."

Finn wished he could reach up to grab Russell by the hair and kiss him right there. "I'll tell you if I absolutely need sex, don't worry about _that._"

"Does this mean we're...dating? Already?"

Finn took Russell's hand as they left the art gallery. "If it's okay with you."

"Did I mention that I have fake teeth?"

"Yes, and I already told you I don't care."

"Oh. Well then, I don't mind then."

"Good."

"Did you like it?"

"I liked it a lot. It was very entertaining."

"You're just saying that, aren't you? You don't have to worry about trying to make me happy, I can take it."

Russell raised his eyebrows. "You think so? You're a bit like an overeager puppy, I'm not sure. It's not like we were even at one of your art showings. It was just a movie."

"But _I _picked it."

"What, do you think I'll break up with you just because I didn't like a movie we saw? I'm not that fickle."

"I never said you were!" yelped Finn, hoping he hadn't come off that way.

"I know, I know," said Russell soothingly. "Hey, do you...wanna come back to my place?"

It was their fourth date, and Russell had completely avoided any sexual advances, so his suggestion was met with an incredulous stare. Russell saw his look and turned red.

"No, I meant, you know, we haven't seen each other's places yet," said Russell hastily. "My brother will probably be there. So. You know."

"I'd love to meet your brother," said Finn, smiling. "And figure out where in this city there's an apartment big enough to fit you."

Russell swooped down to give Finn a kiss before they left the movie theatre and headed to Finn's car, where Russell proceeded to give Finn directions to his apartment, which had Finn's heart pounding with excitement.

When they finally pulled into the parking lot, Finn wasn't sure how to feel. It was a fairly high-class complex; he'd thought it would be a bit shabbier, seeing as Russell was unemployed. Apparently guessing Finn's thoughts, Russell said, "My father finds ways of sneaking money into my bank account. I'd ignore it, but Maggie's living with me, so I don't want it to be too much of a dump."

The elevator actually had elevator music. It took Finn longer than it should have to get over it.

"What?" asked Russell curiously. "You grew up just as wealthy as I did. Why is this so surprising?"

"I don't really roll around in money like I used to," said Finn. "It's more jarring than you'd expect."

The elevator reached their floor, and Russell ducked his head as they exited, leading Finn to his apartment and unlocking the door with a well-practiced movement of his left hand.

The first thing Finn saw were the instruments. There were what seemed like dozens of them, haphazardly strewn around the living room floor. All of them were in cases except a violin, which was lying on the sleeping face of a man who must have been Malcolm Feanaro.

"Sorry about the mess," said Russell, sidestepping a huge instrument case as he entered. "Maggie...well, you get the point."

Finn looked around while Russell put the violin in its case. It was very tastefully decorated, although Finn suspected that had been done by some sort of designer. The kitchen was right next to the dining room, and there was a long hallway that led to the bathroom, two bedrooms, and an extra room that Russell seemed to use as a mixture of an office and an exercise room.

"Fancier than I need," said Russell when Finn reappeared from the hallway. "But I fit in it, so I'm happy here."

The ceilings, now that Russell had pointed it out, were higher than usual, as were the door-frames. Finn wondered if that had been the deciding factor in its purchase.

"Wake up," said Russell. "Wake up, stupid."

The first warning wake-up calls so calm that Finn didn't expect what Russell did next; he told Malcolm to wake up two or three more times, then shoved his brother off the couch.

"Ahhhh!" said Maggie. "What the hell was that for?"

"You know it's the the only way to get you up," said Russell apologetically. "Otherwise you'll sleep all day."

"And what's wrong with that?" grumbled Russell's brother, shaking out his shoulder length black hair. "I was at a concert until five in the morning, cut me a break."

"It's evening, brother," said Russell, rolling his eyes. "You've been asleep since last night. And we have company."

"Company? Who the hell...?"

Finn watched, amused, as Maggie's bleary eyes rose to look at Finn. A slow grin spread across his face.

"Brother, don't tell me this is Finn!"

Russell was already red. "Yes, Mag, this is Finn. Why is it so surprising that I bring a date home?"

"Are you gonna do it?" asked Maggie mischievously. "You can be as loud as you want, I don't mind."

"Valar," groaned Russell. "You're unbelievable, Mag."

Finn grinned back at Maggie. "So, what's with the outfit?"

Maggie looked down and laughed when he realized that the bright orange shirt he was wearing hung down to his knees. "I was so tired last night, I must have grabbed one of Russ's."

"You _own _that?" said Finn incredulously to Russell. "It's hideous!"

"I never wear it," protested Russell. "I'm going to pour some wine, there's no way I'm staying sober for this."

"Not too much," said Maggie, a hint of warning in his voice. "Okay?"

Russell grunted as he left for the kitchen, leaving Maggie looking worried. He turned to Finn suddenly, looking slightly ridiculous with his sleeves hanging over his hands.

"Russell likes you a lot," said Maggie seriously. "You'd better be serious about him."

Finn, having brothers and a sister of his own, nodded. "Yes, I am. Before you say it, I'll do my best not to break his heart. Or mine, for that matter."

"He's got problems," said Maggie, his sharp eyes trained on Finn. "You probably don't even know the half of it. I bet you haven't even seen him shirtless yet, have you?"

Before Finn could think of an answer to _that_, Russell was back, awkwardly balancing a tray of wine glasses between his hand and his stump.

"Remember what I said, Finn," said Maggie cheerily. "Otherwise there will be consequences."

Finn ended up swallowing the wine wrong and spitting up half of it onto his shirt.

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Reviews are love! :)


	5. Chapter 5

Ack, sorry it's been forever. Internet problems and all that jazz. I have a laptop now, so that should help slightly! Although I still don't have internet at home, so, you know. Had a big mixup in chapter titles in my archives at home, so if this seems off placement wise to you, please tell me. I tried to fix it. :)

* * *

"You should let me watch you exercise."

Russell, it seemed, was becoming more and more accustomed to Finn's oddities, it seemed, because he didn't spit out his drink or even blush.

"Excuse me?" he replied carefully.

"As an artist," said Finn. "I like to watch muscles in motion. And as a man...well, I'd like them to be_ your_ muscles."

"Why the sudden interest?" asked Russell. "You've never mentioned this before."

"I only thought of it a few days ago," admitted Finn. "And ever since then...well, I can't stop thinking about it."

"That's flattering," said Russell noncommittally.

"So what do you say?"

"If you draw me...do you plan on using the sketches for anything? If they turn out well?"

"If they turn out really well, I'd like to use them for a show, but only if you wanted," replied Finn.

"You may change your mind when you see me," said Russell darkly, stabbing his meat with his fork. "But I suppose you have to see my chest sometime."

* * *

"You're sure you're okay with this, right?" asked Finn, for what felt like the thousandth time. "I'm not pushing you, am I?"

"You're fine, Finn," said Russell, his encouragement slightly ironic as his fingers hovered over the top button of his shirt. "I'm just worried you won't like what you see. It's not a pretty sight."

"I'm not all about a pretty face," said Finn, tapping his pencil against his sketchbook. "Although you certainly have one."

Somehow this seemed to make Russell feel a little better, and he began to unbutton his shirt in earnest. Finn knew better than to ask Russell if he needed help as he wrangled the buttons out of their holes with his one hand. He pressed his lips together and kept his face neutral as Russell finished unbuttoning it and finally shucked the shirt off.

Wow.

Finn's fingers started moving almost before he his mind finished processing it. To him, Russell's scarred chest was made for drawing, for creating art.

Then he realized that Russell hadn't moved, and he stopped sketching. He looked up, embarrassed. Russell was frozen in place, his expression unreadable as he crossed his arms over his chest, covering the worst of the scars on his chest.

Finn concentrated on Russell's face when he said, "Russ, I'm sorry I didn't say anything, I just got caught up in drawing."

"You did say you liked disfigurements," said Russell, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"No," said Finn hastily, jumping up. "I don't like you because you're scarred, Russell! I like _you_, and in a way I like your scars, but that's because it shows me how much you went through, and I think that's amazing, and oh, Russ, I don't know what I'm saying, I just want you to know that it's not because you're scarred, but at the same time I don't mind...I have no idea what I'm saying anymore."

"Come here," said Russell, uncrossing his arms to reveal pectoral muscles that had been ripped apart by some awful torture device. Both his nipples had been shorn off, and as Russell shifted Finn glimpsed his back, which was thick, _unbelievably_ thick with lash marks, from his neck right down to the edge of his pants.

"Ugly, huh?" said Russell, looking at him with sad eyes. "You won't be wanting this for your drawings, will you?"

"Nothing changed, Russell," said Finn. "You made it clear that you had problems coming into this relationship. I'm ready to help with them, okay? I don't mind your scars, I promise."

Finn reached out and grasped Russell's shoulder, half-expecting the other man to flinch. He did not, and Finn took the opportunity to pull him closer and run his fingers across his chest, over the ridges of scar tissue, over the burns where his nipples should have been, all the way down to his firm abdominal muscles, a feature visible when Russell wore a tight-fitting shirt. Finn returned his caress to Russell's arms, where he ran his hands down his biceps, appreciating their strength, both through the scars and the sheer musculature.

"You," said Finn. "Are a strong man."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"You can't see inside of me," said Russell softly. "I could be rotten."

"Do you really think my taste is so poor?" asked Finn, kissing Russell. "That I would date someone who was rotten inside and not even know it?"

"Your taste isn't poor," replied Russell. "But your eyesight may be."

Finn chuckled a little at that, drawing Russell forward for another kiss, reaching upwards to cup the back of the tall man's neck.

"I don't think so," said Finn. "Maybe when I'm finished with my sketches, you'll see."

"Do you really think it'll be that easy?" said Russell. Finn thought he could hear a note of hope through the sarcasm.

"No," said Finn. "But we can try."

Russell managed a thin smile, looking less worried.

Finn squeezed Russell's arm. "Don't you have exercise to get to? It's been too long since I've seen a nice rump in motion."

"Rump?" muttered Russell playfully as he broke away from their embrace to begin stretching. "All the words for the ass in the world, and you had to use rump?"

"I'm an artist," said Finn immediantly, using his go to excuse. "We're eccentric."

Russell's snort was his only reply.

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Ew, is that dialogue I really wrote? Sorry, I glanced up. Reviews are love or something. :)


	6. Chapter 6

I have internet access for the next couple of days, so prepare for actual updates! :D

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"Is that really how you see me?"

"Obviously," said Finn, rubbing a spot between Russell's shoulder-blades, even though Russell didn't seem to notice. Now that he had access to Russell shirtless he was going to take advantage of it.

"My scars don't really seem...how do I put it..."

Russell leaned forward, making Finn scowl slightly. Honestly, he was giving the man a pretty good back-rub, and it was like he couldn't even feel-

As Russell continued to examine the sketches, Finn, face red, slipped his hand down to a less scarred area of Russell's back.

"I like them," said Russell quietly. "I didn't think I would, but I do. With your art, it doesn't make me feel..."

"Yes?" asked Finn, kneading Russell's skin harder and getting a satisfying groan of appreciation in response.

"Ugly," finished Russell. "It doesn't make me feel ugly."

"I don't _see_ you as ugly," said Finn. "And that's reflected in my art."

Russell shot him a small smile that made Finn's heart melt more than he would care to admit.

"Do whatever you want with them," said Russell, straightening up. "If you like them, go ahead and use them for a show."

"Are you sure?" asked Finn, dropping his hands and stepping forward too examine his drawings again. Truth be told, he rather liked them too. "Don't let me pressure you into it."

"I'm sure," said Russell. "It's a little nerve-wracking, but...I can't look at my scars like that, not yet, but I think those sketches help. Thank you."

"I didn't do it all for you, love," said Finn. "I enjoyed the view of you on those exercise machines."

Russell smiled. "Is that what it is, then?"

"What?" asked Finn, a little thrown off.

"Love?"

Finn flushed when he realized he'd used that moniker. "Not if you don't want it to be."

"I want it to be," said Russell, kissing him on the cheek as they left the room.

"Good," said Finn. "Me too."

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Reviews are love! Ugh, I'm sick of saying that, but I don't have anything better.


	7. Chapter 7

I think this is the right chapter, yes? Remember, I had a mix-up a while back, so if something seems off don't hesitate to tell me!:)

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"Hugh Jackman or Hugh Grant?"

"Hugh Grant," said Russell. "I think he's a better actor. Although they're both cute."

"You have better taste than me," sighed Finn dramatically. "I picked Hugh Jackman, just because he's so hot."

"He does make a nice Wolverine," said Russell.

Finn waved a fork full of lettuce at Russell. "Agreed! Neither are my favorite actor, though. Hmm...Christian Bale or Michael Keaton?"

Russell momentarily looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Er...who's Michael Keaton?"

Finn gasped, appalled. "You don't know who Michael Keaton is? How does one live in this world? He was only the last decent Batman before Bale."

"Bale was Batman?"

"I'm surprised you even knew who Hugh Grant is..."

"Oh, you know me, chock full of-"

Russell was cut off by the ring of the cafe's doorbell, or, more accurately, the voices of two arguing men drowning it out. Finn and Russell rolled their eyes as the sounds of two incensed businessman squabbling over deals washed over them.

Then, almost as if on cue, they recognized the voices and turned in horror to see their respective fathers walking in the door.

Nolan Fingolfin was the textbook definition of tall, dark, and handsome, his suit impeccably pressed and his black hair perfectly parted and cut. Unlike Curu Feanaro, the lines in his tanned face were not deep and his general expression tended towards amiability.

Except now, when his face was contorted with frustration as he practically shouted at Feanaro, whose face was shining with the same emotion. It occurred to Finn that they looked strangely similar.

Feanaro, however, was slightly taller, slightly darker, and slightly more handsome. His dress was, at first glance, just as conservative, but if you looked closely you could see the signs of genius tucked away., an untucked hem here, an unbuttoned collar there. His own long black hair, tied in a sleek ponytail, was his only obvious concession to eccentricity.

"What do we do?" whispered Russell, leaning forward so he wouldn't be heard.

What a ridiculous situation. Finn almost wanted to laugh. Russell, seven foot two and a former prisoner of war, was so flabbergasted by the situation that he was trying not to be noticed through _whispering_.

It wasn't just almost funny. It _was_ funny. Finn let out a snort of laughter and covered his mouth with his hand. Russell stared at him.

"You're not helping," said Russell, a growing whine in his voice.

"Do you think they'll notice us?" asked Finn through hiccups of laughter.

Russell cast a look in the direction of the two multimillionaires as they found a table only three away from theirs. "It'll be even more obvious if we leave."

"So we just sit here, pretending like they're not here?" asked Finn. "I have a feeling we won't be able to pick up our conversation right where we left off. I'm not sure I want to, actually. Your lack of knowledge about actors is appalling."

"I'm sure I was somewhere overseas in a prison when Michael Keaton was famous," replied Russell, eyes flicking to where their fathers were ordering drinks.

Finn raised his eyebrows. "You weren't a five year old POW. You're out of your depth, love."

"You caught me," admitted Russell.

There was a couple seconds of silence before Finn said, "I'm surprised they came here. It's not exactly the prime location for millionaires."

"Billionaires," corrected Russell automatically.

"What?"

"What, your dad's not a billionaire? Mine is."

Finn was finding it hard not to laugh. "Don't tell my dad. He'd have a coronary."

"My dad probably picked this place," said Russell thoughtfully. "He likes to do that, to throw his competitors off their toes."

"From his reputation, it sounds like-"

It was in this moment, when Finn and Russell were discussing the business habits of their estranged fathers, that they were noticed.

"Wait a moment, Nolan, I'd know that red hair anywhere," came a booming voice. Finn and Russell flinched.

"Oh Eru," said Finn.

"Shit," said Russell eloquently.

Curu pushed his way past tables to get to his eldest son, his dark eyes expressive as he smiled, clapping Russell on the shoulder.

"Russ," said the billionaire. "You never answer my calls. It's like you've dropped off the face of the earth."

"I _am_ disowned," said Russell politely.

Curu didn't seem to have recognized Finn, which, in truth, was a little annoying. Feanaro was supposed to be renowned for his artistic inclinations, and here he was, an artist. He must not look at artist bios when he went to galleries.

"You're disowned in _public_," said Curu. "Privately, you know I don't actually care about the whole gay thing. I remember when I was-"

"Curu, you old dog, where the hell did you go?"

Finn covered his face with his hands. Now his father was shouldering their way to the table. He had the sudden urge to start laughing again.

"Finn," said his father in surprise. "And...is that...aren't you..?"

He gestured towards Russell in shock, seemingly unable to complete his sentence.

Curu, being an exceptionally talented and intelligent man, turned to Nolan and states flatly, "That's your son."

"Yes," said Nolan. "And that's your eldest. I think I have that right, don't I? The crippled one?"

Russell hid his arm under the table and blushed.

"Oh Illuvatar," said Finn.

"Could this get any worse?" asked Russell to Finn, a whine creeping into his voice.

Finn shrugged helplessly.

"Russell Mikhail Feanaro, I ban you from dating this vagabond this instant!" ordered Curu.

"Mikhail?"

Russell sighed. "Some of us carry heavy burdens."

"My son is no vagabond!" objected Nolan, pounding on the able and making their plates shake. "If anything,_ your _son is a...is a...tramp!"

"How dare you! My son is a Captain in the United States military!"

"Was," said Russell. "I _was_ a Captain."

"My son is a well-recognized artist! I would have thought you, with your art studios and hippie ponytail, would respect that!"

"You've never defended my art before now..." said Finn, grumbling.

"Oh, for the Valar's sake," said Russell. "I'm thirty-one years old, I don't need this."

Russell stood up, and both fathers fell silent. Finn took the moment to peel a couple of crusty bills from his wallet and slap them on the table.

"Father, is was nice to see you," said Russell. "Hello, Mr. Fingolfin, it's been a while. Sorry we couldn't meet under more pleasant circumstances. I'm afraid we must be going."

"Say hi to mom for me," added Finn, waggling his fingers at his father as he let Russell steer him out of the cafe.

Once they were clear of the restaurant, they both burst into nervous laughter.

"I can't believe we just did that," said Finn. "Are you really thirty-one?"

"What, you didn't know?"

"I thought you were older."

"Flattering."

Finn didn't look back as he grinned and grabbed Russell's hand, whistling merrily as they walked away.

* * *

I think there's a hair stuck in my throat.


	8. Chapter 8

I'm super tired and procrastinating. So here this is, to help my procrastinate from other writing. :)

* * *

"Slow down," panted Russell, fingers threaded through Finn's black hair. "At this rate, I'm going to..."

Finn let Russell's shaft fall out of his mouth as he looked up at Russell in slight confusion. "What, don't you want to come?"

"Of course I do," said Russell haltingly, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. "Do I ever. It's only...I think I'm ready for..."

Finn's arousal, already in his hands, twitched at Russell's heady words. "Get on with it," he said, more harshly than he'd wanted to.

"I want you to fuck me," said Russell finally, pulling Finn up for a kiss and pushing him against the wall, their entwined fingers gripping hard.

"I don't fuck when I'm in a relationship," replied Finn, breaking their kiss to meet Russell's eyes. "I make love."

He smiled against Russell's neck when Russell flushed red, as he'd known he would. The corny line had been worth it.

"Make love to me then," said Russell. "Please."

"There's no need for a please," said Finn. "As long as you're ready."

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't."

Finn's breath caught in his throat.

"Let's make love then," said Finn. "Shall we?"

Russell's shy smile was so sweet it nearly melted Finn's heart.

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Remember: if this seems out of place, please let me know! :)


	9. Chapter 9

No idea if this sucks or not. Probably does. :)

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"You're sure your father isn't coming?"

"Positive," said Russell, laughing. "My mother absolutely wouldn't allow it. She hasn't spoken to him in two years. But he's really not that bad."

"His ex-wife hasn't spoken to him in two years," pointed out Finn. "Not a great sign."

"She was extremely against the twins joining the army," explained Russell. "She said almost losing me was enough, and she practically begged for at least one of them to stay, but they wouldn't, not with Dad ordering them otherwise. That was the final straw for her. She divorced my father right afterwards."

As they approached the house, humble for a woman with means enough for three houses that size, Finn noticed that there were statues all around them, statues of people, so perfectly carved they were almost lifelike. There were eight placed opposite each other on the walkway, statues of Russell's family, of his six brothers and Curufinwe.

He had never seen pictures of the other five brothers, but as he passed them he felt like he had. The twins were first, identical in everything, even expression. Then one who looked very much like his father, with the same proud stare. Next, a handsome one with a large dog at his heels followed by a brother with deep-set eyes and a slash for a mouth, the least attractive of the brothers.

Maggie was across from him, his lightheartedness captured perfectly, although there was a hint of something darker in his eyes.

The last two sculptures were of Russell and Curufinwe, facing each other across the walk.

"Oh, don't look," said Russell, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "It's embarrassing. She did a wonderful job, but I'm not that person anymore."

Finn could see what she meant. This Russell's hair was cropped short, and his expression bore a hint of arrogance Finn had never seen in the Russell he knew. But that wasn't the only trait; he could also see pride, and courage. As Finn's gaze took in the whole sculpture, he realized that the stone Russell had two hands, not one.

"It's from before," said Finn finally. "Right?"

"Yeah, like I said," said Russell, coughing nervously. "I'm not that person anymore. Let's get inside, okay?"

"Of course," said Finn, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to leave the statue behind, barely even glancing at Feanaro's statue.

Russell had barely rung the doorbell when the door opened, revealing a tall, muscular woman wearing a clay-covered apron over a flannel shirt and a black skirt. Her brown hair, tinted with auburn, was beginning to gray, and her freckled face was lined with years of worrying. Her smile was genuine as she pulled her gigantic son in for a hug, who didn't mind her clay covered hand-prints on his turtleneck one bit.

"You must be Finn, my son's boyfriend," said Russell's mother warmly. "I've been dying to meet you, Russell doesn't talk about himself at all and Mag's been mysteriously silent on the whole matter."

"It's great to meet you," said Finn, his ever-present smile creeping up. "Especially after the fiasco that was our run-in with Russell's father."

Russell winced, but his mother didn't. "You'll have to tell me all about it! You can call me Nell, my mother made Curu call her mother and it was horrible, I never thought I'd see anything awkwarder."

"Did you?"

"I have seven sons, what do you think?"

Something clicked in Finn's brain. The statues. Nell. Seven sons.

"Wait," he gasped. "You're not Nell Istar, are you? _The_ Nell Istar?"

"Yes," said Nell, suppressing a smile. "You're an artist yourself, I hear. I've seen some of your art, you're good."

Finn staggered backwards. "How did I not realize?" he cried in despair. "I walked by _Nell Istar_ statues and I didn't even realize it! I'm eating dinner at her house! This is...I can't even..."

"I get it, my dad's famous, my mom's famous, everyone around me is famous. As much as I enjoy your theatrics, I'm getting cold on this doorstep," said Russell. "I don't enjoy ducking my head for five minutes straight."

Finn obliged and continued his swooning inside, all the way up to the dinner table, where Nell had just served three plates of a very delicious looking meal.

"Now that you've gotten over your faint," said Nell, rolling her eyes. "Tell me about yourself."

"Well..." said Finn, glancing at Russell, who nodded encouragingly. "My father is Nolan Fingolfin..."

"I'm well aware," said Nell, giving her son an exasperated look. A look Finn guessed said 'why_ him_?'

"And you know I'm an artist..."

"Where'd you meet Russ?" asked Nell, throwing him a bone.

"At one of my father's parties," said Finn, relieved to have a subject to talk about. "My sister and I were combing for cute guys, and lo and behold, we saw Russell."

Russell cringed. "That's so embarrassing."

Nell clicked her tongue against her teeth. "I disagree."

"Huh?" said Finn.

"Russell isn't _cute_. I think he's more of the smoldering hot, like magazine cover boys."

"Wow," said Russell. "Thanks, Mom."

Finn nodded in agreement. "You're right, cute's not really the right word."

They began to talk in earnest, Finn and Nell having a lot in common as artists (often leaving poor Russell miles behind). The dinner was excellent and the company was even better. It was when they were just beginning to eat dessert that things changed.

"Russell, dear," said Nell patting her son on the hand in an uncharacteristic doting way. "Can you go to my room and fetch my old portfolio case? Not the new one, the one with the hole on the side. I want to show Finn some old sketches."

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

Russell obediently stood and went off to find the portfolio case, leaving Nell and Finn alone together.

"That should keep him busy for a while," said Nell. "He has a lot of trouble trying to find things with only one hand. He'll be struggling with lids and box flaps for the next half hour."

Finn could only gape at her.

"I need to know my intentions towards my son," said Nell solemnly, her hand tightening around her wine glass. "I don't know how much he's told you."

"About what?" asked Finn, all rational thought fleeing his brain as he faced the most terrifying prospect possible; motherly disapproval.

"Honestly, you're smarter than that," said Nell. "I suppose you're just nervous, hmmm? Afraid I'm going to bust your balls?"

"A little bit," admitted Finn.

"Good. I might," replied Nell. "I love my son. I love him a little more than my other sons, because I've watched him come home from war. When he came back, he had more broken bones than you can count. The flesh had been ripped from his back, and his right hand was so smashed and mutilated they had to amputate it. They had him for three years, and in those years they took my son and they destroyed him form the inside out. He had to relearn how to walk, how to live with only one hand. on the outside, he's doing fine. But I don't know about the inside, and it kills me."

"What do you mean?"

Nell's pretty brown eyes were narrowed, although Finn couldn't tell what myriad of emotions were causing it. "My husband told Russell that therapy was a woman's game, that men sucked it up and went on with their lives. He paid every hospital bill, every single one, from every shot to his physical therapy, but when it came to Russell's mind, he refused. That's when I truly divorced that man, in my heart. Russell, needed help, and he didn't get it. He's been bottling it all up, and although I think it could be worse, as he's an exceptionally strong man, it's not healthy."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Finn found himself saying.

"Because," said Nell, his eyes cold. "If you fuck with him, I will end your career. I'm not talking about a break-up. I understand those. Sometimes people aren't meant for each other. I'm talking about you leaving him alone, and vulnerable, with no good reason other than your own satisfaction. Do you understand?"

"You underestimate me," said Finn, finally recovering his voice. "I would never do that to Russell, not to anyone."

"I don't know that," said Nell. Then a shadow seemed to pass over her face, and she looked perfectly cheerful again. "But I suspected it. Welcome to the family, Finn. It's a dysfunctional one, to be sure, but you should enjoy it."

Finn laughed awkwardly and was saved by the arrival of Russell, holding a large portfolio bag in his hand. There was a large quantity of dust in his copper hair.

"I found it," he said proudly, holding it up. "It took me forever, though. Sorry, Mom."

Nell pecked him on the cheek as she opened the portfolio, showing Finn her sketches.

Finn's mind was off elsewhere though. He wouldn't betray Russell, not now, not ever. He respected Nell for giving him the warning, but it was unnecessary. He loved Russell, and he was only beginning to realize how much.

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Reviews are love! Eh.


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